three
by Citrus Scented Candle
Summary: Max has a shitty life. He hates most of his peers, lives in a shithole, and has nothing to do but to collect information on people so they know not to mess with him. But after a tragedy occurs, and Max is named a hero, does Max know how to help everyone heal? School shootings, mention of a bombing, child abuse, swearing, underage drinking, drug use, descriptions of graphic events.
1. Three

Max woke up, feeling shitty as always.

"Another day in hell.." He mumbled to himself, wobbling as he drowsily got out of bed, turning off his space heater.

Today was going to be a day just like any other. He didn't know if he wanted that or not. Regardless, Max had shit to do. He put on his old bear slippers and coat and stepped into his kitchen. Why didn't he have heat?

Mornings were dull. I mean, everything was dull, but mornings were especially. Max hated that half-trance sleepy state he woke up to every morning, that emptiness that you felt, mindlessly following your morning routine. Get up at 5:00, have coffee for breakfast, get dressed, brush your teeth then slip on your shoes and leave really early for the bus. But at his lame excuse of an apartment, everything seemed so… lonely.

He was always urgent to leave, he hated being alone with his thoughts. Everything was too still, he thought as he was brewing his coffee.

Max carried out the rest of his morning routine and was out of the house at 5:32. Damn. He could never get it on the dot.

The bus came by at 7:00, but Max is a natural early riser, and was often at the bus stop around 5:40. He never seemed to shake that habit off. He usually waited at the bus stop on the cold wooden bench, waiting, and if there was no one in a 100-foot radius, drawing. Max didn't draw often, but it was calming. He liked to just let the pen on the paper get rid of his thoughts. He looked through some of his old sketches. Some of them you could tell he was angry, the pen strokes left marks on the other pages from him pressing so hard, the lines sharp and intimidating. Some you could tell Max was nervous, lines on the page light and wobbly. And there was a page where the pen exploded on him. He gave a smirk to the drawing he'd tried to make of a black swan, looking distressed with ink blotting it's feathers and the surrounding pages.

Max drew whatever was in his mind. A person, an animal, an idea. Today, he didn't have much on his mind, so he just continued to add to the sketch from yesterday of a cockroach. He found one in the lobby of his apartment that day. He sighed, seeing the cold winter air condense his breath into vapor. Max brushed back his hair as he leaned into the page, focusing on the drawing, letting the pen carry itself.

"Making some edgy art?"

Max jumped at the sudden noise and looked up to find Neil leaning against the bus stop pole. Neil wandered over to sit next to him as Max put away his sketchbook.

"I wouldn't call a cockroach drawing edgy." Max retorted. Neil shifted in his seat.

"You found another one in your apartment? I know it was free, but twice in a row?" Neil commented, surprised. Neil Henderson. Science Olympiad member, President of the Sciences club, teacher's pet. 3rd year. Blackmail option one: A picture of him in a drag get up from camp so many years ago. Option two: literally any of the report cards he received. He had no idea why he was so protective of them. Option Three: a recording Max had snatched of Neil singing "I Wanna Dance With Somebody". Like many of the people that he collected blackmail for, he didn't hate him. Max just knew that anyone could turn on you the moment you don't expect it. Max had to be ready to do the same.

"Nah, it was the one in the lobby from yesterday." Max stated simply, zipping up his bag and checking the time. 6:37. "It's that time again." Neil sighed.

"HEY GUYS!" Nikki jumped up from behind the bike, making both of the boys jump.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST NIKKI!" Max quickly reacted, standing up suddenly and Nikki, quickly taking his seat, giggled. Nikki always showed up at the exact turn of 6:37, and no one could figure out how she did it.

"Could you idiots try to be quiet for like 5 seconds?" Neil stated coldly, clearly sick of their bullshit. "You're triggering my migraines." Neil rubbed his temples and rolled his eyes.

"Nope!" Nikki giggled as Max struggled to reclaim his seat. Max gave up and leaned against the bus stop pole. Nikki Cordelia. 2nd year. Blackmail option one: a picture of her in her old flower scouts uniform. She wants to go past that. Option two: anyone knowing her actual name was Nicole, or Nicolette. Max still wasn't sure. She hated that name so much, she legally changed it. Option three: that video of her trying to be a wolf from camp all those years ago. Despite seeming impenetrable, Nikki had the things no one wanted to see.

Everyone does.

Max struggled to reclaim his seat from Nikki, before giving up and leaning against the bus stop pole.

"You look like Ered when you lean like that Max." Nikki stated simply.

"Whatever." Max said, mocking Ered's voice.

They waited for the bus, striking up short conversations about people they hated. People walked in, Max made mental notes. Preston Goodplay. Theatre club president. Meredith Miller. The school's resident "cool kid", whatever that meant. 3rd year. Harrison Derrick. Magic Club member, next in line to be club president after the current one graduates. 2nd year. Nerris Rodriguez. 2nd year. Active advocator for the existence of a D&D club. Dolph Houston. School resident weird artist. 1st year. Space Kid/ Neil Armstrong jr. 1st year, space club member. Gaylord "Nurf" Nurfington. Resident school bully. It's technically his 5th year, but he's still a senior.

As they got onto the bus, Max, Nikki and Neil sitting in the back left, as always, Max looked out the window and just stared. Harrison and Neil were having an argument about the difference between spaghetti and pasta.

"SPAGHETTI IS A TYPE OF PASTA YOU HEATHEN!"

"WELL IF IT'S A KIND OF PASTA CAN'T YOU JUST USE IT AS AN UMBRELLA TERM?!"

" **NO!"**

Max smiled. As much as he says he hates these dorks, if anything happened to them, he doesn't know what the hell he'd do.

"Guess what Max?" Nikki said, a huge shit-eating grin on her face.

"...what." Said Max, hoping this wasn't what he thought it was.

It was.

Nikki proceeded to make a fart noise with her armpit before shouting, "CHICKEN BUTT!" And bursting into laughter. Max rolled his eyes. Did she ever grow up?

The bus tires screeched as they came to a sudden stop in front of the sad excuse of a school, running over yet another squirrel. Everyone got off the bus and took their time walking to the door. Max put his stuff in his locker, and walked to his first class, and as per usual, his social studies teacher was showing the class yet another photo of his dog.

He hated the social studies teacher. David Greenwood. One of the various reasons he hated David was there was no way to collect blackmail on him. He was too optimistic and dim witted to even find anything about him. Without that, he didn't have reassurance that if David did in fact turn on Max, he'd have a way to get out of that situation. Max sighed as he got passed today's assignment. "Alright kids, open your textbooks to page 335! This is gonna be a good one!" David beamed.

Again. Another shitty day in the same shit-stained halls of Campbell High. But nobody knew that that day would be different.

Terrifyingly different.

On that fateful Tuesday, at 9:38 AM, 28 children and one teacher at Campbell School were sent to Lake Lilac Hospital's Emergency Branch.

 _ **Sorry for leaving all of you on a cliffhanger, but I think when I'll get the next chapter up really soon! I'm really motivated to write this, and I think updates will be maybe every month-ish maybe? We'll see.**_


	2. Victim

_**Chapter 2: Victim**_

 _ **Ok so this chapter is gonna have**_ _ **a lot**_ _ **of graphic stuff so if you're sensitive to that you know what to do :)**_

No one expected what would happen that day.

At least Max didn't expect a man dressed in black and a hockey mask with a gun to barge into the classroom that day. He felt as if he was in one of those high school movies where in the beginning the dramatic climax was shown, then there was a freeze frame and the protagonist would narrate and say some bullshit like, "and this is my story" then the entire movie went and rewinded.

Unfortunately, this was nowhere as comedic.

As Max took a good look at the gunman, he thought about why the universe seemed to always put him in the worst possible situation.

Naturally, it put him here. What led him here?

Before the man ran into the classroom, before they heard banging in the hallway and assumed it was just the kids in drum club, before they heard more than usual noise in the halls, what happened? What led him here? David at the front of the class clearly had no idea what to do, so he jumped in front of the kids. "Don't hurt them! Please."

Bang.

David fell to the floor, clutching his side.

But no matter what happened before, he was here now. What would he do?

Bang.

 **What could he possibly change about this now?**

The kid at the front of the class yelled and fell to the floor. He could see the shooter's sickening grin even with the hockey mask.

Bang.

A second year right in front of him fell down, making pathetic whimpers.

Bang.

This one was headed right for Max. He didn't move, but he also didn't feel a single inch of pain.

The shooter missed.

This is when Max's instincts took over.

This is when Max did a very idiotic thing.

This is when Max charged at the shooter.

Max ran head first at him, and in the shooter's flustered shock, they missed every shot.

They wouldn't continue to do that.

When Max made contact with them, Max tried to take his gun. They sparred, and Max had little to no idea what he was doing.

Bang.

Max felt the lead of the bullet rip through his right thigh. He yelped in pain, but he continued to fight. He almost had a hold of the shooter's gun.

But.

Bang. Bang.

Max whimpered at the newly found hole in his left shoulder, and the bullet graze along his left cheek. He weakly looked back at his classmates.

They were frozen with terror.

This only filled Max with rage.

With all of his remaining energy, Max punched the shooter and snatched away his gun.

Bang.

That noise came from Max. Max shot out the shooter's knee. The shooter grimaced under their hockey mask, but Max had no mercy.

Bang.

The other knee now. Heaving, Max stepped back, before collapsing.

"Holy shit…" Neil whispered. "HOLY SHIT, MAX!" Neil rushed to his side, asking various students to get him things, applying pressure to Max's wounds. The other students joined, saying things like, "That was so badass" and asking, "Is he gonna be ok?". People dialed 911. Neil knelt besidehim, using his vast knowledge of anatomy, frantically fixing Max up as well as he can. "Cmon, stay with me Max."

Max tried to lighten up the situation. "How bad is it doc?"

That didn't help. Neil grimaced. "As for your cheek, you're definitely gonna need stitches, and I think it'll leave a thin scar. And for…" Neil gestured to the bloody masses on Max's thigh and shoulder. "You're gonna need surgery, but I'm gonna do what I can right now." Neil pointed at a first year."You! Get me some rubber gloves and a wet cloth!"

And sure, Max's eyes were open, but his head felt like it was filled with cotton. He felt the pain, and he felt the pools of blood around him. He heard the panicked whispers, and he heard the 911 operative talking Neil through what to do. He heard David's voice, weakly saying, "I'll be fine! Please help the other students." Max heard his own shaking breaths. He saw the people crowded around him, anxiously staring with wide eyes.

Max just kept breathing shakily. "Why did I do that.." He eventually whispered.

Neil stopped. "Max. You saved _everyone._ You-," Neil chose his words carefully. "Without your intervention, who knows how many would have died."

Max smirked. "Really? I'm the hero now?"

"I hate to admit it, but yeah I'm pretty sure everyone in the school owes you one." Neil said, before continuing to follow the instructions of the 911 operator.

Max is 80% sure he heard a "The ambulance is almost there." And Max was almost shaking with relief. As much as he didn't want to say it, he was scared. Really scared. He heard the tears coming from people, and he wanted to let his own fall, but he couldn't. He simply couldn't. Not after his "amazing display of bravery".

Well, what he could do is let himself pass out.

Max felt his eyelids get heavy, but before he could, he briefly saw the doctors and policemen lifting him into a stretcher. He saw Neil being questioned by the police. He saw a pitying glance that a policemen shot at him, which would normally infuriate Max, but he had no such energy for any of it. He had no energy to even try to "survive through this". Max simply let himself fall into a deep, exhausted slumber.


	3. New Scars

—

 _ **Chapter 3: New Scars**_

 _ **More graphic stuff, also this mentions a bombing, surgery, and like always take cursing as a given. Ready for angst? I'm not and I'm the one writing.**_

—

The universe really had it out for Max today.

So naturally, Max woke up in the middle of his surgery.

It was definitely startling, no one wants to wake up with a numb body on an operating table, seeing only your own blood. Max just lay there, watching the surgeons cut into him and trying to make sense of all of it. Well, he definitely couldn't. Probably because of the combined numbing drugs and the blood loss. He was high as shit. Max smirked.

Nice.

But one thing that seeing his own blood, seeing others looming over him, feeling so _powerless,_ it all brought him back to how it was-

No. He was NOT thinking about that. Not now.

Fuck it.

Max let his mind wander to those nights. The nights he spent alone, left to fend for himself in this cruel hell we call "home".

 _Three rules, Max thought to himself. Just three rules here._

 _Don't trust anyone_

 _Always be prepared to run_

 _ **Never** go out unarmed after sunset_

" _Simple enough…" Max muttered to himself, sprinting down the alley, gripping the handle of his knife, watching his black curls bounce in rhythm with Max's footfalls. When he finally arrived at his apartment, he ran the usual routine. Close the window blinds, lock all doors and windows, keep all lights turned on._

 _Once his paranoid checking and double-checking were complete, Max sat down and sighed. His parents came here illegally, of course leading them to live in only the worst neighborhood in the worst, shit-stained apartment. They were too busy trying to make an honest living to provide Max with any sort of support, but it's not like he needed them to. "I'm fine," he muttered to himself, repeating the same false promise that he knew wasn't true, "everything's fine.."_

 _And although for now, that false truth may be, Max never knew when one night his parents wouldn't come home, and he would truly be alone. Lazily getting up, Max heard a knock on the door. But it wasn't his parents. He didn't hear a loud argument at the front door, nor was the knock angry and violent._

 _No, this wasn't them._

 _Cautiously looking through the peephole in his door, Max's eyes widened._

 _A police officer._

 _Opening the door with a look of jaw-dropping fear and surprise, Max carefully eyed the officer. "Umm... Hi?" Max said, with his watchful eyes scanning the other man attentively, as if they were reading a book._

" _I-" The officer cuts himself off. "Are you the child of Alexis and Sahil Bhatia?" Max nodded. The official was slow to respond. "I'm… I'm so sorry." Max's face dropped, and he felt his brows tighten as his eyes filled with water, like a dam about to break._

" _..What do you mean?" Max said weakly, trying to swallow his increasing panic._

" _Your parents were one of the many casualties in a bombing on Central Street today. I-" the policeman paused. "I'm sorry, but there's no easy way to put it."_

 _Max felt his knees give out. He saw intense pity and guilt overrun the officer's face, and Max was soon being guided into a squad car, where Max was taken to the police station to go over the details, who got what possessions, and where Max would stay. Big surprise, he was being flung into the foster system like just another orphan with the same tragic backstory, and little 12-year-old Max was thrown from home to home like a stray cat, never "fitting" with any family. Eventually, he was sick of it and ran. Max was able to beg his way to get back the apartment that he and his parents owned._

 _Sickeningly enough, being an orphan has its perks._

 _Unfortunately for Max, however, those his age had no mercy._

 _At school, Max was no longer just the "curry kid with major anger issues" he was now "the little brown orphaned shit"._

" _Hey, dipshit." Richman Smith, Max's official least favorite person. "I thought you were gonna be driving my taxi, you orphans always needing money." The smugger he looked, the more Max wanted to eviscerate him._

" _What Richman? Not getting enough attention from your pa-" Why did he say that? Soon Max found himself slammed up against a locker._

" _At least I_ _have_ _parents." He found a fist fresh on his face, and Max's resolve dropped. "Look me in the face shit-for-brains! You are below me. I can get your sorry ass expelled so fast your head will spin, and don't think I'll stop there." Richman spits on him before letting Max retreat into the growing crowd. This is the night Max started collecting blackmail. He was going to send Richman to juvie and was determined to stop any other people like him from growing too powerful._

 _Three months later, Richman was sent to juvie for drug use, assault and battery, as well as a variety of other charges. Soon, people knew that it was Max who tipped off the police, and nobody fucked with him for a while, in fear that they would be next if they ever crossed paths with him. The few that did become close to Max were only friends because they're oblivious enough to think that if they became close to him, then they would be safe. At least, that's how it started._

The nurse finally noticed how awake Max was and grabbed a needle. "Sleep?" she stated simply, and Max nodded graciously, unable to see his own blood any longer. The needle poked into his IV, and Max submitted to the heaviness of his eyelids.

 _ **WOOP WOOP BACKSTORY AM I RIGHT! Sorry that this chapter was so much later than the other ones, school is a bitch like 88% of the time.**_


	4. Aftershocks

— _ **-**_

 _ **Chapter 4: Aftershocks**_

 _ **Hello! Sorry for the late chapter but I've been trying to learn how to write better so that the chapter you guys get isn't messy and rushed. Also, I thought it would be a little fucked-up to publish a chapter heavily concerning a school shooting right after a major one happened. I took my time on this one and i think that I actually like what I wrote! Enjoy :)**_

Max woke up to a white room, the sun coming through the curtains blinding his eyes. This was an unfamiliar room, and thus Max woke, instinctively jolting awake.

Boy would he regret that.

A foreign pain shot up his arm and into his shoulder, and Max heard himself gasping and grimacing in pain.

"Shit!" Max whispered angrily, rubbing his shoulder in attempt to still the wound.

"Max?" A familiar voice said. "Max! Holy shit dude you're awake!" Neil ran to Max's side, full of excitement. "Nikki he's awake!"

Nikki ran up to Max, enveloping him in a huge hug. Max flinched upon sudden contact, as always, but relaxed into his friend's familiar touch.

"Am I in the hospital? This looks like a hospital…" Max said, glancing around the room curiously. "What the hell happened? What day is it? How long have I been out?"

Neil sighed. "Well, what do you remember?"

Max hesitated before responding, "We were at school, yeah? And then uh, there was this guy who came in and he…" Max paused before continuing, "He shot up the class, and I fought him I think, yeah, and then I hung out on the floor for a bit…" Max trailed off, cuing that that was all he remembered.

"Basically!" Nikki chimed, finally letting Max out of her death grip hug.

"After you passed out, they took you and the other wounded into the ambulance and the witnesses into questioning. You got surgery and have been out for about…. Half a day." Neil quickly recalled.

"What happened to the shooter? Is he in jail?" Max questioned, anxious to know if his attempts at stopping the attacker's plans had any actual purpose.

Nikki and Neil exchanged nervous glances, like they knew Max wasn't going to like what he heard. "About that… ermmm.." Nikki tried to communicate what happened, but failed to do so as she awkwardly swung her feet in her chair and picked at her nails.

"The guy was gonna be put into the justice system, but before they could interrogate him, they found him dead in his cell." Neil said, stumbling over the words. "They think he killed himself."

Max was speechless. He got shot twice and was probably going to have life-lasting injuries he sustained for protecting his classmates and the damn bastard who did all this horrible shit was _dead. I wanted to look him in those god-forsaken eyes of his and ask him why. That's all I want to know._ Max thought hopelessly. After a long pause, Max responded angrily: "Whatever hell he was sent to, he _fucking_ deserves it." Max's tone scared even himself.

Getting rid of the tension in the room, the door was opened by a nurse, who quickly announced her entrance, "Glad to see you awake Max! I'm your nurse, Christine, I'm just gonna run a few quick tests and I'll be right back out, ok?" Max nodded in response and the nurse went to work, clicking on buttons and writing things down, all the while Nikki babbled on about all of the things Max had missed in the day he was out.

As Max tuned out his surroundings as per usual, he couldn't help but notice Neil casting occasional glances at Max, as if trying to observe him and see through the noirette's guarded psyche. Eventually Neil spoke. "You know Max, people have been really grateful for what you did in the classroom." Neil paused watching the noirette turn to look at Neil. "People left flowers and stuff, if you can't already see." Per Neil's statement. _Holy shit._ Max thought. _How could I have not noticed that?_

Max looked to his right in awe. About 20 whole bouquets in vases were stuffed on to the small white side table by his hospital bed. Max looked closer to see cards attached to many of the vases, and where there weren't any flowers, there were more cards. It was like the entire school had done a memorial to what he had done. Before Max could continue to admire any longer, Nikki added, "The other people who got hurt got gifts too, but you have the most!" After pausing, Nikki continued, "It really is amazing, what you did for everyone."

Max picked up a stack of cards and browsed through them. People had given him Starbucks gift cards, "get well" stickers, movie tickets, and even straight-up _checks._ It wasn't until he saw a fancy leather envelope that he was really amazed.

Max grabbed the leather envelope hastily, curiosity taking over. As he examined the envelope, Max saw that it was from one Cameron Campbell. _The principal? He's loaded as fuck, how much is in here?_ Max thought while undoing the clamps that held the envelope closed. The envelope read:

Maxwell Bhatia:

I am forever grateful for the lives that you saved and protected. As principal, the mental and physical health of the students at this institution has always been my number one priority.

 _Bullshit._ Max thought, _You don't care, you just want to make money off of kids with dreams._ He continued to read:

What you did will always be remembered by our school community, and we would like to return your act of bravery by giving you this 20$ Denny's giftcard.

Sincerely,

Cameron Campbell

"What's in the envelope?" Nikki asked excitedly, looking at the leather envelope with curiosity.

"What… What the fuck!?" Max shouted angrily, ripping the Denny's giftcard out of the card before throwing the envelope and letter down onto his hospital bed, but regretting the way throwing it made his shoulder throb and ache.

"What? What did he give you?" Neil responded quickly, also eager and expecting a better reward.

"HE GAVE ME A FUCKING DENNY'S GIFTCARD!" Max shouted, his right arm hitting the bed to display his anger, but quickly regretted it as he felt his wounds throb before bringing a firey pain, to which Max visibly grimaced and flinched, dropping the giftcard while letting out a colorful stream of profanity.

"Shit- are you okay?" Neil softly swore as the brunette hurried to Max's side with Nikki.

Still wincing and grabbing his shoulder, Max breathed uneasily. "...yeah, I'll be fine." Max paused, catching his breath as he leaned back into the bed, feeling the burning pain ease slightly.

Apparently Nikki had wisely hit the button to buzz the nurse, and a few minutes later, Christine the Nurse walked in. As soon as she saw Max hunched over and leaning back onto his bed, gripping his shoulder, she immediately ran to his side, shoving away Nikki and Neil. "What happened?" Christine demanded as she examined Max's damaged shoulder. When no one answered her, the nurse took a moment to assess the situation herself. She sighed. "It's not too bad, you just need to be very, very gentle on your shoulder and leg. If you aren't you'll probably end up crippled or worse." She then got Max an ice pack to put on his injured limb and left.

"...Fuck." Max stated simply.

The trio continued with regular conversation, with Max expressing his disappointment at the principal's lack of appreciation while somehow not sounding like a self-righteous asshole (a gift he had mastered), while the other two-thirds of the trio listened; Nikki adding her curious and innocent two cents and Neil correcting Max's grammar and word usage. _Smartass._ Max thought, as per usual.

Max's doctor came in, the room became tense, everyone wanting to know what news he had.

Plastering on a smile, the doctor entered. "Hi Max! I'm your Doctor, Terrance. I'm sure you're eager to hear what the state of your condition is, and I'm here to tell you just that. So let's cut to the chase, huh?" _What a stereotypical kid's doctor._

Max could see the grim look hiding behind the doctor's eyes. He knew that bad news was coming. Sensing this, the noirette said, "I know this isn't gonna be something I wanna hear, but just tell me."

Sighing, Dr. Terrance continued, "So, with your leg. It's gonna be about 4-5 weeks in a wheelchair for you, I'm afraid. After that, you'll be in crutches until you finish physical therapy."

Max's eyes widened with shock, 4-5 weeks! Jesus, what happened to him? The noirette noticed the other two minors in the room give him their own form of a pitying glance, and determined to keep a cool head, Max braced for the next wave of bad news.

After giving Max some time to process that information, the doctor continued, "As for you arm, we're gonna give you a shoulder brace, and you may not be able to do any lifting with that arm for some time. You also will have to undergo a few psyche tests."

"Psyche tests?" Max stated, confused, "Why would I need one of those?"

"Max, what happened to you would be considered traumatic to most people, and the fact that you're responding so nonchalantly is concerning to me, as well as your peers." As well as your peers? What was that supposed to mean? Max turned his attention to Neil, who upon seeing that Max turned to him, glanced away hurriedly. _Wait… how did he..._

Interrupting the silence, Dr. Terrance continued, "Well, see ya later kids!" He then quickly and smoothly exited, as if what had just happened was typical.

Sighing, Max leaned back into the hospital bed, taking it all in. He didn't notice the conversation between the other two children in the room, nor did he notice the concerned teacher, watching from outside the hospital room.


	5. Caring is for Losers

_**Chapter 5: Caring is For Losers**_

 _ **Hellooo~ I'm back! Who's ready for a little perspective change? Hope you are. i don't think I'm going to be changing perspectives a whole lot, but only when the story needs it. This chapter is a little short, but I'm gonna be trying to update once a month from now on. Reviews are always welcomed and highly encouraged, and as always, enjoy!**_

David cared for children. A lot.

It's the reason he had determination all throughout all of his schooling and training, and the reason he put up with all the nasty things the kids would say about him.

He wanted to change their lives. To give a safe space to those who never had it. Most importantly, he wanted to give them a better future, and a better world to live in.

So yes, maybe some kids thought that his constant enthusiasm was "the equivalent of a gay chihuahua on meth", as one student had so eloquently put it, but David knew, _he just knew_ , that it would pay off. _Why did they have to add the gay part?_ David wondered absentmindedly, before quickly refocusing.

So, was taking a bullet for a kid worth it? Absolutely. And was his body going to feel the pain of a bullet graze? Definitely. But it was all worth it.

But David had still managed to have been useless. It was Max that took down the shooter, and shot out _both of his gosh-darn knees._ That kid was not to be messed with, Max made that clear enough. Everybody knew that he had something over _everyone_. At least three pieces of very usable blackmail that Max could use to tear your life into pieces before you could say "hooey".

Despite all of the warnings that he got from people, David took an interest in Max. Even now, David sat outside Max's hospital room door, too polite to interrupt but too curious to move away. David needed to know why Max was so naturally untrusting, and why he always reacted indifferently. As a highschool teacher, David had been introduced to all types of life, from the preps to the stoners, David knew everyone.

But he had never seen anyone like Max.

No one had carried the defiant air of the bullies, the I-don't-care attitude of the goths, the scrawniness of the nerds, and the power of the preps like he did all at the same time. Max didn't fit in anywhere, but at the same time, he fit in everywhere.

Everyone assumed that Max had something wrong with him, or some tragic thing happened. The only things people really knew about him were that he had blackmail on everyone, he was an orphan, he hung out with Nikki and Neil, and to not fuck with him, under any circumstances. That was about it.

But David knew that there was more than met the eye when it came to Max. The redhead sighed as he turned to look inside Max's hospital room. The noirette appeared to be in a bit of a trance as he lie back in his hospital bed, seeming still and unfazed by all that was happening around him.

Picking up his usual energy, David gained a newfound confidence. _I'm gonna find out what's happening with him, if it's the last thing I do!_ David thought this happily as he limp/walked slowly and carefully to the hospital elevator. He looked as enthusiastic and as glowing as someone could look with a healing bullet graze wound, which was pretty impressive. Despite the pain in his left side, David continued down the hallways and into the meeting room the school staff had agreed on, room 363 on the third floor of the hospital building. Stepping into the room, David gratefully took a seat. Present at the table were the other teachers, including vice principal Ms. Gwen, the Quartermaster, (QM wouldn't let them address him as a janitor,) several higher-ups from administration, and …..Cameron Campbell! Well, he wasn't here now but he'd definitely show up soon. David tried not to shake with excitement at the man's arrival while he stared happily at the Principal's empty seat. Maybe this time Mr. Campbell would say that David is his favorite teacher, or that David was like the son he never had!

Finally, 22 minutes late, Principal Campbell appeared, opening the door holding some folders and a cup of (probably incredibly expensive) coffee. "All right," the grey-haired man sat down at the head of the table with a huff. "Someone catch me up here."

An intern tasked with keeping numbers began reciting the digits on his clipboard, "Good evening, sir. The police currently believe that an either high and/or insane man broke into Campbell High at 9:33 AM. The individual first opened fire with an AR-15 in the West Wing, shooting in the AP US history class, then Chemistry, and finally was apprehended by a student, Maxwell Bhatia in the Creative Writing classroom. There are currently 12 students dead, 4 in

critical condition, and 12 others whose injuries are not critical," Tension in the room thickened, despite the blank and unfeeling face the Principal wore. The intern continued, "The perpetrator committed suicide by biting down on a pill laced with ricin. No identity was recovered, and no information was gained from him. There are many theories, and this attack may be a part of a much bigger scheme. The public is anticipating a response from the school." David felt the room tense. He didn't like it when such sensitive subjects, like this one, were announced so… robotically. It was like someone had taken a big glass of sadness and strained out all of the emotion, until only the facts and details were left.

Campbell sighed. "What a mess…" he paused looking at the other faculties' faces, before taking a long, hearty sip of his expensive coffee. "Alright. What kinda… media response are we thinking here? I don't want my school to look bad, it'll make less money!" That was his response? Really? Every day David felt as if his former hero was becoming more and more money-obsessed, and less and less human. It was hard to look him in the eye sometimes. After no response, Cameron simply said, "Welp, whatever. Davey and… Grace?"

"It's Gwen."

"Yeah, sure Gloria. You guys formulate some kinda speech or… something. You have 36 hours to return it to me after the meeting ends."

David turned eagerly to look at Gwen, who he would apparently be working with for the next day and a half. He gave her an eager wave, to which she responded with a heavy sigh. "Sir," Gwen spoke, the exhaustion in her voice dripping off of every syllable, "Do you have any requirements for the speech?" She yawned, clearly stressed but still managing.

Cameron thought for a bit before responding, "It has to be at least 20 minutes long, declare my glory as well as the school's, promote my book _The Art of The Steal_ , denounce the shooter, and display my hatred for the government, but discreetly." Gwen clearly had a reaction to that. Her head dropped and her fists tightened, and David heard her mutter something along the lines of _I don't get paid enough for this shit._

Then, without a second thought, Cameron Campbell checked his fancy phone/watch, before exclaiming, "If anyone asks for me, I'm at home, grieving over the loss of children!" And just like that, Cameron Campbell opened the window and climbed onto a helicopter ladder. Expectedly, shortly after, the FBI showed up, and the teachers did as they were told, telling government officials false information like it was commonplace.

Gwen got up with a sigh and stood at the head of the table and said simply, "Well I guess that means that this meeting's fucking done! Dismissed!" After the rest of the teachers began to leave, Gwen noticed that David was staying put. She sighed, before saying, "You don't have to work with me, I can write the report by myself."

Upset at Gwen's apparent need to work alone, David replied, "It's fine! I like getting to know the school VP! I know this seems stressful too, but we'll make it fun, won't we Gwen?" David could tell that there was something wrong with the other teacher, that she was close to cracking under pressure. Trying to distract her from that stress, David made sure to hold up a high-five for the brunette, which she happily ignored.

Walking past him, Gwen replied, "Sure, fine. I'll see you at the Starbucks they have here in like, 30 minutes."

David watched his new partner exit the room, and filled with a new excitement to get to know Gwen, he packed up his things and prepared to write a heart-wrenching amazing speech. This partnership was going to be one to remember!


	6. New Routines

_**Ch 6: New Routines**_

 _ **I'm again, REALLY sorry I couldn't get a chapter out for last month. The school year is getting wrapped up, and with that comes all of the bullshit final exams that mean way too much. Reviews are always appreciated, and NEVER hesitate to call out ANY mistake I make, whether it be with consistency or grammar or whatever the fuck. Enjoy~**_

The hospital was dull to Max.

It was always full of action, but at the same time, greatly empty. Max knew that all around him, people were having the worst days of their lives, the first days of their lives, the best days of their lives, and the last days of their lives. It was weird to him. He morbidly wondered how many died while he was sleeping.

In fact, the entire experience of a hospital was strange to Max. He was used to having to do everything for himself, but here, people did everything for him. At first, he was paranoid. He didn't trust the nurses and doctors with his health, despite the many encouragements from Neil. ("They're certified for a reason, y'know.") But he eventually grew to trust them, (after a whopping 3 weeks) forgetting his anxieties.

At this point, almost every kid from at Campbell High had come to visit him. Every social clique, and every outcast. It was weird to him. He was used to being avoided and whispered about, not praised and thanked. The stack of gifts next to him kept on growing, and he worried about where of all of this shit would go.

Weekends were fine. Nikki and Neil would visit, Neil dropping off his notes and the homework so Max could catch, while Nikki and Max would exchange glances, knowing that he didn't give a rat's ass about school work. Other than weekends, his days were just as repetitive as they usually were. Not that he minded. Max appreciated schedule, he liked having constant things he knew he could rely on. It was comforting to be able to trust in _something_. Physical therapy was hard. He often ended it in sweaty, in pain, and no more able to walk than he usually was. He was told it would get better. But when?

Max's thoughts were interrupted with a knock on the door. "What?" Max said, his head turning to the door across the room.

"It's the police, Max. Don't worry, you're not in trouble. We just wanna ask you a couple questions about the shooting," the policeman answered through the door.

Max was hesitant to respond. He knew from experience that police never brought good news. Reluctantly, the noirette answered, "Fine, come in."

The policeman moved in, followed a woman in business casual attire. She spoke, "Hi, I'm Detective Mary Lostifer," Immediately, Max thought, _oh, fuck._ The government was never good news. Last time he'd seen someone from the government was when- _I'm not thinking about that._ The detective continued, "I'm going to ask you a few questions in order to assist us in finding the shooter's identity and/or the identity of his associates."

Max only saw bad in the woman, wanting to yell out, to call the bullshit, but instead said, "Yeah, sure, ask away." For all Max said about hating "the system", he sure was falling into it now. _Not like I even have a choice,_ Max thought, getting a quick glance at the Detective's pistol.

"Thank you for your cooperation," the detective said as she sat down in a chair next to Max's hospital bed. Max tried not to think about how he flinched when she sat down. "If you have not heard already, the assailant of the shooting was arrested, but died in the police car after being caught, taking his own life. He was never identified, and we never got any information from him about why he did it." the detective paused, and looked into Max's eyes as if searching for permission to continue. She'd clearly been informed about how this was a "sensitive topic" for Max.

 _B-U-L-LS-H-I-T,_ Max thought, trying not to roll his eyes, ignoring how his stomach was turning. _Just get it over with._

Finally, after an uncomfortably long silence, the detective continued, "Sorry, I thought I'd give you time to process that," _Again, b_ _ullshit._ "We were wondering if you could help us figure out at least the identity of the shooter, if he said anything that could help to identify him, or acted in a certain way."

Max surprisingly, actually considered what she had said. After thinking it over again and again, he realized something he might not have thought about just that moment. "Actually," Max began, "He did have some kinda… accent."

Intrigued, the detective took out a notepad, "Can you describe it?" Max tensed.

"Hell if I know… " Max thought back to that day as hard as he could, picking at his plastic hospital patient band. "It was… It was heavy... the words carried like a Russian accent. The only thing I heard him say was the word "shit" over and over when I shot him, but…" He trailed off, silently hoping that this was enough to get the persistent detective to leave.

Finally, after writing for quite a while, she asked, "Is that all?"

The noirette responded almost instantly, wanting her to leave, "Yeah, I think so."

The detective's eyes lingered over Max's face a bit longer, studying it. She then closed her notepad, and drew out a white card from her pocket. "This is my business card," she said, leaving it on Max's bedside table. "It has all of my contact Information, so if you remember anything else, don't hesitate to call."

And with that, she left. No goodbye, no anything. Max felt a tension follow the detective out of the room. He seriously doubted that he would ever see her again. But that was fine. In fact, Max preferred it that way.

Max was used to people leaving and never coming back.

The days following that were as dull as always, with physical therapy and stale hospital food, another monotonous routine to follow as always.

Physical therapy, or as everyone here called it, PT, was soon integrated with yet another evaluation. But Max hated this one with a passion. They were his psych evaluations, or as they called it, PS-E, and it was essentially therapy. He didn't _need_ therapy, his dad always told him not to trust therapists. It was their job to pick apart your brain, to learn your secrets. That didn't sound appealing to Max, not at all.

In the first two weeks he had PS-E, he went through 5 different therapists, and today it looked like there was yet another one. He had suspected as such, the last one didn't go too well. He hadn't said a single thing to them, out of pure spite. It was their job to get paid to get people to speak, so what if he just didn't talk? What could they do then? Fucking nothing.

He rolled himself in to the PS-E room, which was as equally boring and bland as most hospitals, except there were cheesy motivational posters on them with pictures completely unrelated to the caption beneath. (i.e. a picture of a lone penguin captioned, "joy!"- that was Max's favorite.)

A man sat there. Hearing Max roll into the room, he turned, and looked him up and down absently. Seeing that the man was studying him, Max thought he should study the stranger back. No one could know more about Max than Max knew about them. It was how he noirette survived.

After the silence between them began to grow awkward, Max thought he should just say something.

"Hey…" Max said awkwardly. The man gestured to a blank spot at the table, and Max fit his wheelchair into the empty space at the table.

"Welcome, Max. I'm Samuel, and I'm going to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?"

Max snorted. "You already just asked a question, so I guess I don't have a choice."

Samuel smirked. "I guess that works."

They talk, and unlike all of the other therapists Max has had, he didn't jump straight into questions about Max's life. Samuel asked questions about Max's personality: the boy's interests, favorite things, and friends. Max still didn't trust Samuel, but the noirette made sure not to give away important information. They made small talk for the hour, and they were on their way.

It was weird, Max thought, as he was rolled into his hospital room, how despite how dull and repetitive each day he spent at the hospital was, it was still preferable to his shitty excuse for an apartment in the shittiest part of town. Max was helped onto his bed when he saw a notebook on the bedside table. Max picked it up to examine it.

It was a sketchbook. Not the extra composition notebook he used for a sketchbook that he usually used, but a well-bound, leather, hardcover sketchbook. Max opened the first page of it when a note fell out. It had one sentence.

 _Keep drawing! :)_

\- David


	7. Falling Back in Again

_**Ch 7: Falling Back in Again**_

 ** _Hey! Haven't updated in a while, and I'm sorry about that. It's been hard to get motivated to write recently, and I have no clue where I wanna take this story. Not to mention that it's hard to balance this with everything else that's happening in life right now, with school about to start up again and everything. So, take this! it's short, and sort of a filler chapter, but it'll fill the void for content for a bit. Please, please, please leave reviews! I don't care what they say, but they really help me get motivated to write. Enjoy the chapter!_**

"Annd…" Gwen typed and revised the last few sentences of her- no, Campbell's - speech, "Done," she said tiredly, happy to be done with another one of Campbell's stupid chores. She sighed and leaned back into the stiff metal chair of the 24-hour Starbucks.

Across the table from her, David lay heavily asleep. He'd been like that since about 1 AM, and it was currently 4 AM. Gwen looked over at the tired Starbucks employee, who glared at her as to say, _when are you guys fucking leaving?_ Gwen could only shrug awkwardly back, much to the employee's displeasure. The employee stomped angrily to the back room, done with the two teachers.

Suddenly, a thought came over Gwen. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She was done with her work, and around now she'd usually return to her apartment and watch the newest episode of either _Keeping up With The Kardashians_ or _The Real Housewives of who Fucking Cares_ , but this time she wasn't alone. She had a 28 year old man-child to burden her. It wasn't like she could just wait until he woke up, the employee here was already pissed enough at them already, and she didn't want to be banned from _another_ Starbucks for sleeping there like some homeless mess. (She was, admittedly, one of those two things already.) She couldn't just bring him back to her apartment, because that would be weird, and she couldn't just leave him there because he'd probably end up dead or otherwise fucked up.

Gwen sat and thought about it for a while, and ultimately decided to just wake David up and call him a cab.

 _Fuck it,_ she thought. _Here goes._

She slapped the redhead right across his stupid Canadian face. "David!" She whispered-yelled.

The sleeping teacher jolted awake, "Shnookerdookies!" He yelled, too loudly for a Starbucks, earning them _another_ irritated glance from the barista. "Gwen!" He said, whisper-yelling like she had done to wake him up. He looked at his watch, "Hickory biscuits, it's 4:14 in the morning! How long have I been asleep?"

"Like 4 hou-"

"My deepest apologies Gwen!" David said, "I made you do all of the work! I bet I was just holding you back from properly writing the speech!"

Gwen sighed. "Really, it's fi-"

"No!" David said with a surprising amount of energy, having being injured and previously slapped in the face. "It's not fine. I offered my help and I did nothing but hold you back. It _won't_ happen again." David paused to take a breath. "Now," he said, adjusting his crooked tie, "back to work on the speech right?"

Gwen paused, taking her time to prepare for the enthusiastic teacher's response. "I finished it."

"WHAT?!" David yelled again. Gwen looked at the Starbucks barista, and they had apparently given up on the two teachers, resigning to sighing heavily and looking at their phone. Gwen had wanted to write the entire speech herself, but David had insisted to write the second half. Conveniently for Gwen, David had passed out by the time Gwen was writing her 3rd paragraph. "Gwen! Why didn't you wake me up? I would've gladly delivered on my promise to write the second half of Campbell's speech. Do you not trust me?"

Gwen thought about her response, knowing that no matter what it was, David would react strongly. If she said yes, the redhead would probably become 12 times as energetic because of his excitement to work with Gwen in the future, and it'll be a cold day in hell when the brunette has the mental capacity to deal with that level of energy. On the other hand, if she said no, then David would plead for a response, and put all of his energy into trying to mend their trust. But if Gwen was being honest with herself, she didn't really have an opinion on David yet. So that's exactly what she said. "That's a good question." Before David could object, she continued, "I'll call you an uber. Get yourself home."

David took a bit to internally process what she just said, before saying, "I-Its fine. I can call myself an uber."

He took out his phone which had a clear case holding a picture of a little golden-brown labrador, probably David's dog. Gwen sighed. _Predictable._

They went their separate ways, David heading back into the hospital because he, "needed to get something for someone," and Gwen headed back outside, enjoying the refreshing winter air on her tired face. She let muscle memory take over, taking public transportation back to her apartment and collapsing into bed with a sigh.

David's 4am activities were unfortunately, much less relaxed. With the leftover guilt from not helping Gwen, he felt the need to do _something_ helpful or otherwise productive. He looked through his phone, wondering what he could possibly do at this unholy hour, until he saw a message from one of his students.

 _ **Neil Perlman : Hey Mr. Greenwood! This may seem kinda awkward, but I need your help.**_

 _Help? But Neil's the best in his grade, maybe the whole school even. What could he possibly need?_

 _ **Neil Perlman : It's about Max.**_

 _Ohhhhhhhhhh._

 _ **Neil Perlman : Nikki and I are both getting concerned because he's been in the hospital for almost a month now and he doesn't seem to be getting better mentally. I'm not going to tell you that much because even telling you this much would be seen as some sort of treason to Max, but I will tell you that he used to draw, a lot. Before what happened. I think that drawing helped him and I would do this myself but I don't think Max could respect me afterwards. Could you pick up some art things for him? I don't think he needs anything fancy. That's all thanks bye.**_

David knew that for Neil of all people to be asking for help, the situation had to be dire. The teacher walked down the street slower than he'd like due to his injury, but fast enough.

He couldn't save those kids before.

And he'll be damned if he can't do it now.


	8. Helpless

_**Ch 8: Helpless**_

 _ **A chapter? From me? On time? It's more likely than you think.**_

 _ **Thanks to everyone who commented and encouraged me, it helped me get this chapter together. Please leave reviews! I wanna know how I can get better, or what you guys wanna see more of. I've wanted to write this chapter since the idea sparked in my head, so please, enjoy!**_

After his 5th week in the hospital, Max was finally discharged.

He'd still have to visit there every other week for physical therapy and other therapy, but damn was Max ready to go. The hospital had offered to drive the noirette home, and of course he took up their offer. No one Max knew could know where he lived, not even his closest friends.

"Alright, this is your stop, kid," The nurse said, helping Max out of the car and up to his floor. "Say hi to your parents for me, ok?"

Max hesitated. "Yeah, sure." He looked at his shoes as if they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. _I wouldn't even if they were alive,_ the injured student thought, letting himself into his apartment.

The hospital finally let Max go after he demonstrated that he could get out of bed and walk to his wheelchair every morning consistently without help. He'd be as he said to the nurses, several times, "perfectly fucking capable of taking care of myself, thanks." They were still hesitant to let him go, even though Max was already on crutches. After his next physical therapy session, they'd get him on crutches and he could finally just go back to school.

Fuck, school.

That was going to be interesting. He could already call what was going to happen. The hot sluts at his school would be all over him, because he was suddenly "so hot" for "being so brave". Then, they'd be over it in a week, and go back to having sex with the varsity teams in the janitor's closet.

The goths and emos (What even was the difference between those losers, anyway?) would want him join them in talking about "true pain" or whatever, and invite him to their poetry show-and-tells or whatever they wanted to call them.

The sports bros would all give him bro hugs and say shit like "respect you, little dude." (Even though Max isn't short, they're all just giants and you _can't_ convince him otherwise.) Maybe they'd lift him on their shoulders during gym, but whatever they did, they'd mess with his injuries on accident and get a talking-to from a teacher.

Each social clique would have try and have their way with him before giving up and letting things return to the way that they were.

Max was sure of what would happen with them, but what about his enemies?

What about the endless list of people who he'd pissed off? They would surely all see this newfound injury of his as a weakness, more importantly, a weakness they could exploit. He'd be a target the moment he showed his face, and it's not like he just _couldn't_ go until he was fully healed, that would be a sign of weakness too. He'd be helpless no matter what happened. Helpless and weak. Helpless and weak. Helpless and-

" _Weak!" his father yelled, infuriated. "You can't even land a hit on me. Boy, if you're gonna want to survive in this world, you're gonna have to fight for it." The man waited, before screaming again, crazed, "What!? Gonna just lie there? Helpless!?" When the boy didn't move, the man simply kicked him again and walked away, not caring to spare a second glance at the crumpled heap of a child, sobbing on the floor._

 _No._ Max thought, again. _I'm not helpless._

 _I'm not helpless._

" _Keep crying, you little shit, see where that gets you." His father spat, towering over him after a particularly bad "fighting lesson". Suddenly, Max was grabbed by the collar, his limp and bruised body dragging along the floor, shaking with sobs and tremors. The next thing he knew, he was thrown into the crawlspace, the door slamming behind him, it's shaking making dust and cobwebs from every nook and cranny of the crawlspace jump out to say hi. The boy cried for what felt like days in the small, dusty, spider-filled space, the cobwebs sticking to his skin, wet from tears and sweat. His stomach begged for food, and at that moment, starving and alone, Max knew what it meant to be helpless. He felt desperation everywhere, from his throbbing bruises and cuts to his bone-deep hunger. He didn't want this anymore. He didn't want to be helpless anymore._

 _I'm not_ _ **fucking**_ _helpless._

 _Fists just kept falling. Max couldn't tell if they hurt anymore. Or if anything hurt stopped crying a long time ago. Tears make you weak. Tears make you helpless. Max got up again, readying his fighting stance. He saw his father coming in for a right hook to Max's face, and quickly moved left, causing his father to lose momentum and stumble onto the ground. He saw an opening, and took it, tackling his father and pinning him to the floor with his wiry limbs. Breathing heavily, Max spoke slowly. "I'm… I'm not helpless."_

 _I'm not helpless,_ Max thought again, moving to look at his reflection. He had new scars. There was a thick line of distressed pink flesh underneath his left eye, where the shooter's bullet had grazed him. Removing his shirt, being careful of his injured shoulder, Max studied himself harder than he had in a long-ass while. There was a round pinkish-red scar on his shoulder, where he'd been shot, the flesh around it twisted strangely to allow the wound to heal. Pulling up his shorts, Max examined his thigh, and found a similar mark. These scars were proof of something. Proof that Max knew how to fight. That someone had wanted to _kill_ him, and he overcame them. That Max was fine on his own. _**That he wasn't helpless.**_

 _ **I'm not helpless.**_ Those same thoughts were always in his head, ringing off every time someone had mistaken him to be weak. After getting his ass handed to him by Richman "fuckboy" Smith, he'd learned how to stop people seeing him as just a weak, sad, _helpless_ orphan. When his "parents", if you could call those fuckers anything like that, were killed to make a stupid statement, the countless foster parents all babied him like some sort of _helpless_ and traumatized kid. He was anything but that. He ran away from each and every one of those losers until they got sick of his shitty attitude and passed him on to the next family or group home, and the cycle repeated itself. In the hospital, those same words pushed him out of his wheelchair. His first steps in whole weeks were motivated by the need to dominate, the need to prove that he wasn't weak. _I am not fucking helpless._

Taking a deep breath, Max looked at himself in the mirror, but differently this time. When he looked at himself, he didn't see a weak little injured idiot, like the rest of the world, he saw someone else entirely. Max saw a war in his eyes. His blood was venom, coursing through his veins, fatal to anyone who dared to challenge him. When he breathed, he inhaled smoke and exhaled fire. His fingers were talons, and his mind was a blade, sharp and quick to destroy.

"My name is Maxwell Bhatia," Max began, speaking slow and sure, "and I am not **fucking** helpless."

 _Yeah,_ he thought, _my enemies better watch out._


End file.
